Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson
For me, the final straw on the back of my Holiday Madness Camel came in the form of the Shelf Elf. Everybody was posting pictures of their mischievous Christmas elves posed daily in the midst of elaborate hijinks. One day he’d be rigged up to look like he was hang-gliding over the toilet. The next he had messed up all the laundry one woman had just folded.
I saw the elf and, with a sense of dread, I knew that I had to get one… [read more at Familius.com]
My parents taught me to be kind, loving, honest, selfless and… auto maintenance. That’s why this particular story is so embarrassing to me.
For the Thanksgiving/Christmas season, my mom and dad are in town, about 45 minutes away from here. My dad is working as the main attraction and my mom is here to be with her lover and working in a supporting role on set.
For my mom, it’s hourly part time holiday work. For my dad, it’s a job share with another man who looks a lot like him. I think of them as high-end models. My dad works mornings and the other man works evenings. My mom flew out here with the intention of working the same hours as my dad.
But another one of my dad’s jolly doppelgangers, working an hour and a half north of here, got sick. So my dad’s job share partner took over all the hours at my dad’s mall and my dad is currently spending his days up near the Canadian border bringing joy to children and their confused parents. “Why is Christmas so early this year?”
That leaves my mom living in a hotel with no vehicle during the day and a day job to which she no longer has a ride.
Perfect solution. She could borrow one of our cars. Dan takes the bus to work every day and it just sits there. Soccer season is over. It was all perfect. So, on Sunday night, after much persuasion, I convinced her to take Dan’s car, my first car, a car that has over 100,000 miles on it but has served us well.
As she was about to leave, Dan said, “You should check the oil. It might be low.”
Apparently “low” means there is approximately zero oil in the engine and the smear that remains at the bottom is black as tar or midnight or super old oil. So, I got in my van and followed her to the gas station to put some oil in the car, oil she insisted on paying for.
On the way there, I noticed that the left brake light was burnt out. Awesome.
“Mom. It also looks like the left brake light is burnt out, although I don’t know how a person is supposed to know that kind of thing unless she is driving behind herself or gets pulled over.” I start talking really fast at this point. “I hope you don’t get pulled over, but I think it’s still safe to drive and do you think that you could go replace the bulb tomorrow and maybe get the oil changed? I’ll pay you back and I’m really sorry.”
She was super gracious about it. “You’re lending me your car. It’s the least I can do. Blah blah. Nice mom stuff. Blah blah.” And all I could think was, My dad is gonna know of this and he will not outwardly judge me, but a little part inside of him will sigh and he will think, “Nothing’s changed since high school when she would run my car into cement posts and forget to put gas in the tank because apparently cars can run on school spirit and teenage infatuation.”
Then we went to put the oil in, two quarts to get it reasonably full, and I noticed that the power steering fluid was low.
“So, ahem, tomorrow after work when you get the oil changed and the brake light fixed, can you also please make sure they check the power steering fluid? I think it will be fine for the rest of your drive tonight in the dark on unfamiliar highways. Hope you don’t get a ticket for this! KayThanksBye.”
AAAHHHHH! A kind gesture is so much more kind if it doesn’t come with a massive to-do list that says, “Remember when you taught me how to be responsible and care for my belongings? Oops. I accidentally… the whole car.”
My family has a special relationship with the jolly fat man. My dad looks like him. A lot like him. So much so that in his retirement years, he has found himself in Kris Kringle’s employ. This year he’s working as Santa’s special helper/ stunt double mornings at Alderwood Mall in Lynnwood, WA, less than an hour away from where I live. It is so fun to have him and my mom close for the holidays.
My sister, an amazing photographer based in Billings, MT took this shot of him, and my parents printed it up huge on canvas and framed it for each of their kids as an early Christmas present this year.
There is so much I love about this picture.
A. My dad.
B. The image of Santa arranging the nativity, made more tender by the fact that the nativity he’s arranging is the one I grew up with.
C. My dad, who is THE BEST SANTA EVER!
When I got over my delight at the gift, it occurred to me that there may be other people out there who would enjoy a copy of this picture. Even if he’s not your dad, it’s hard to argue that he isn’t the best Santa you’ve ever seen. And the picture is so gorgeous.
So, I convinced my sister to make it available from her website.
Go to VincentArts.com and click on CLIENT PROOFING at the bottom of the page. The password is “santa”. When you select “Santa at the Nativity 2013,” you can click on the little cart above the 8×10 picture and choose whatever size and options you’d like. Becky suggests ordering your large canvas prints without mounting if you’re having them shipped and then getting them mounted at your local craft store. That way you won’t pay the money for mounting and risk them being damaged in the mail.
Merry almost Christmas! I know it’s early but I wanted to get this out there in case anyone was interested in getting a print for this year.
Wanda knows that some things are real and some things are fake and some things are a little bit of both, like my “homemade” broccoli chicken bake, for example, or stuffed animals.
She talks a lot about her stuffed animals and their wants, needs, desires and personalities. Sometimes they argue with her and she vents her frustrations right back. But heaven help me if I try to get in on the fun.
Wanda: My animals LOVE this food.
Me: They love it? That’s nice.
Wanda (dropping her head into the palms of her hands): Mo-om! They’re just stuffed animals. They can’t really eat. They’re just bre-TEN-ding!
Me: So. They’re not alive? They’re just pretending to be alive.
Wanda: Yes!
People will see her at the grocery store dressed up like Spiderman or a princess.
Nice grocery store clerk: OOooo. We have a princess in the store today!
Wanda (raising one eyebrow and looking at her suspiciously): This. Is. A. COS-TUME. I’m Wanda Thompson. I’m just a girl!
IDIOTS!
At night, she sleeps with her “bretend” stuffed animals who can’t enjoy culinary delights because they are just real enough to play pretend but just fake enough to not be real. She also shares a room with Laylee.
One night last week Laylee had to stay up for some reason and Wanda went to bed alone.
Wanda: But I can’t go to bed now because I’ll be ALOOOONE!
Me: That’s okay. You can take Muno and Kangie with you.
She shakes her head mournfully, her eyes close to tears.
Wanda: No, mom. They’ll be alone too.
Me: So you’ll all be alone together?
Sad head nod.
Maybe the stuffed animals are suffering from some sort of fake depression, feeling all alone in a crowded bedroom. It would be a hard life for them, you know, if they were real. Which they are not. Duh?! I bet you believe 4-year-old girls are Spiderman, too.